


Increasing Levels of Support

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Office Sex, POV Alternating, Peggy Carter is so important, Resolved Sexual Tension, Skye and Coulson need each other, Skye and her Huge Crush on Coulson, Slow Dancing, This Will Get Jossed, Unresolved Sexual Tension, coulson family feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's inside these walls that he discovers how much he needs her, how desperatedly. It's also inside these walls he realizes she might need him too.</p><p>(Based on Clark Gregg's comment about Coulson getting "increasing levels of support" from Skye - which of course my mind translated as "office sex!")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Increasing Levels of Support

It's three weeks or so into the new place when she finds him pushing a ladder against the wall and attempting to hang the portrait of Peggy Carter above the door.

"Need help?"

Coulson shakes his head.

Of course he doesn't.

Skye takes the portrait in her hands. She helps him anyway.

She has seen pictures of Carter before, of course. The SHIELD manual. When young she always looked too stern for her years, and Skye liked that, a serious young woman.

"She's pretty," she says.

"Hey," Coulson turns around, clicking his tongue. "That's _Director Carter_ , be respectful."

Skye smiles at him.

"Just her? Why?"

"This was her place," he explains. "Her office. I'm just borrowing the building for a while."

"So you need her blessing."

"Kind of."

At least he seems _slightly_ more relaxed than of late.

Three weeks into the job and he is already retreating, pulling away from everybody, from her. He should know Skye is never going to stand for that.

"It's okay, you know," she tells him, after a minute or so of watching him pick the perfect spot, meticulously, like it held some kind of secret, like if he does this one little thing right the would simply fall into place.

"What?"

"That you think you can't do this," she says. "We all realize – well, I do, anyway, that you have your doubts. It's okay. You don't have to do it alone."

"Director Fury did it alone."

Skye shrugs; she doesn't want to say anything bad about the man because Coulson is basically in love with him and she admits it's not easy making decisions with HYDRA playing in your backyard but even so, some of those decisions weren't precisely the right ones. Maybe Coulson should look to a better example. Skye wonders how Peggy Carter did it – history sanitizes everything, Skye knows that better than anyone, knows that any bad bit would have been expurgated before making it to the SHIELD history books. But she still wonders. She looks at the picture. The resolved look on the woman's face, almost smug (Skye likes that too) but... did she ever had doubts, did she feel weighted down by the responsibility? Would she have any advice for Coulson?

"Yeah," she tells him. "But you _don't have_ to do it alone."

He looks at her. Skye hopes he can tell it in her voice, what she means. The team is there for him, always, but she hopes to convey the extra accent in that sentence. She would never leave him alone.

Coulson stares at her for a moment.

He extends his hand to ask for the portrait. "Will you help me?"

Skye knows he's asking for a lot more.

He's asking for exactly what she wants to give him.

She nods, wordless, and hands Coulson the portrait of the first Director of SHIELD.

 

+

 

He wonders if he should say something.

He wonders if Skye is waiting for him to say something.

She can't think he doesn't notice. No, she's too smart for that. 

The thing: personally he doesn't mind. Every day she pushes the chair a little closer to his desk. Personally: he likes it. Which is why he should say something. Put a stop to it. Before she gets too close. He wonders when it will be too close. He wonders if they are past that point already.

 

+

 

"I didn't mean to –"

Coulson huffs, fingers checking the damage. He looks genuinely angry. Which, of course, only makes her laugh harder.

"This is why we shouldn't drink in here."

"No coffee in the office. Yes, that's an excellent rule, Director."

"At least _I_ can handle a mug."

"I said I was sorry!"

He rolls his eyes. She doesn't think he should be throwing such a fit. He only has like a million identical shirts. It's not Skye's fault that he didn't look before turning around when she was explaining something. It might have been her fault that she was so close to him, so needlessly close.

"Get me another shirt from the closet."

She does. She picks a blue one. She likes it when he wears blue. She knows she shouldn't have any preference and it's weird that she does but. At least it's not as weird as turning around from the closet and looking at Coulson in his white t-shirt and finding him, for a lack of a better world, sexy. _That's your boss_ a voice in Skye's head says, like it's the first time. And then it goes _he's the Director of SHIELD_ with even more urgency.

Skye shrugs the voices away, handing Coulson the shirt and staring at his arms.

She wonders if he has noticed she has been pushing their chairs closer together in their meetings because she loves looking at him.

They have always been a bit unprofessional and this thing has always been around the edges of everything else, always part of their dynamic. But it has been manageable. Skye doesn't want things to change. She doesn't want to put their relationship at risk. He needs her. She has to support him. Now more than ever. She tells herself these things – these cliched lines, because she doesn't want to admit that she'd like to see him in casual clothes more often, or that she would like to be the cause. She doesn't want to admit the possibility that this manageable thing has become unmanageable along the way.

She's staring at him, while Coulson does the buttons of his shirt, carefully, too carefully, like a children who has just learned how to. Skye feels a wave of protectiveness that is familiar, and a wave of lust that is starting to be.

"What?" Coulson asks her, noticing her expression.

"Nothing." She bites her lower lip.

"Skye."

" _Nothing_."

The rest of the morning she passes in a kind of daze, trying not to oogle her boss again.

 

+

 

She brings him a bottle of water. Coulson misses the SHIELD-logoed bottles they used to have, but there's no money for having their own brand now. In his semi-fevered state these are the details he focuses on.

"Where did you find me?" he asks.

Time seems to have stopped being quantifiable. He doesn't even know when she found him, or how she managed to bring him down here. Feeling drained, he asked her to let him sit on the floor, his back against the desk. Skye kneels by his side.

"In the kitchen," she replies.

"This is not the first time," he points out. Her lack of alarm, though useful, felt baffling.

"Two weeks ago. You don't remember."

No, he doesn't. At all.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what it meant. And when I found what you had written..." her voice breaks a bit. "I got scared. I decided to keep an eye on you and see if it happened again. I know I should have told someone."

"You should have."

He feels himself get angry at her. What was she thinking? This could be dangerous. _He_ could be dangerous.

"I'm sorry," she repeats. He can hear the fear in her voice. "But after what you told me about Project TAHITI and how Garrett was in the end. And about May's directive."

"May –"

"Would never hurt you, I know that. But I was so afraid that it might be what you feared. I wanted to rule out any other possibility. It was stupid, I know that. But I was scared to let others know."

The anger slips away from him. It wasn't stupid. Skye wanted to protect him and she is used to doing things on her own, she must have felt safer trying to take care of it before anyone else found out. Still, it wasn't stupid but it was dangerous.

"I could have hurt you," he says, softly, feeling his stomach drop at the idea. Suddenly her proximity, the way her knee is touching his ankle, the way her body is shielding his, makes him nervous. She shouldn't be this close. She's at risk. She shouldn't ever be this close.

"It's not me I'm worried about," she tells him.

"I was holding a boxcutter."

"And you dropped it the moment I told you to. Remember?"

A bit. He remembers flashes. He remembers being afraid for what he might do, if he wasn't in control. He remembers being afraid for what he might do to Skye. She didn't look afraid.

When Skye' moves to touch his knee he realizes he's shaking.

"You're burning up." She says, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. She moves her fingers to his t-shirt them, and his knees. "We have to get you out of these soaked clothes."

She leaves him alone for a moment, and that absence pierces Coulson for no comprehensible reason. He then realizes she's just gone over to the closet. He keeps a couple of changes of clothes in the office.

"Lift your arms," she tells him, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt.

There's such a solace in how Skye is just taking control of the situation. He doesn't even know what the situation is about. But Skye seems to know what to do. Maybe if he just follows her instructions...

He does as she says and she helps him pull the t-shirt over his head. It suddenly and shockingly occurs to him that this is the first time she sees the scar on his chest and he panics a bit, but she doesn't make a comment or stare.

"Stand up," she says.

She takes off his pajama bottoms and helps him into some dry sports clothes, her arm around Skye's shoulder because he doesn't know how to trust his legs. There's nothing he can do about how wrong the situation looks – Skye undressing him, Skye dressing him again, the intimacy of his helplessness – and he doesn't want to do anything about it either. She makes him feel a bit safer. Right now he's not her boss, right now he's not the Director of SHIELD. Right now he just needs her help. She lets him sit again.

He has stopped shaking.

Skye runs her hands over his thighs, trying to get him warmer.

She doesn't stop touching him. He could stop her and he should but the truth is he draws comfort from these little touches, her proximity. He feels too weak and exhausted to put up his defenses, the usual protestations. The voice inside his head that always warns him about not getting too close and too comfortable seems drown now, in the noise and the pain and the fear. In the balsam that is Skye's fingers across his forehead.

"Thank you," he says, like an invitation for her to continue.

"Don't mention it."

She drops her hands to his shoulder, rubbing them comfortingly.

"You think it's happened before? Before you saw me the other day."

"I don't know," she replies. "I know it's not happened again until tonight. I've been looking."

He deserves this, but Skye doesn't.

"If I still had my memories about TAHITI, about what the subjects –"

She presses her thumb against his chin, forcing Coulson to look at her.

"Don't think about that right now," she says. Her voice sounds like absolution. 

He's afraid. It's not a feeling he's comfortable with. He's afraid of what might happen to him, yes, but above all he's afraid to die. He doesn't want to die. There's some comfort in that, too, because it means he's willing to fight. He wonders if that newfound courage has something to do with the way Skye is still touching his face, the care and the tenderness there. He wants to live.

"So, what do you suggest we do, Agent Skye?" he asks, catching her hand in his. Her fingers are cold and he squeezes, letting her know he's okay now.

"We have to tell Simmons," she says.

He nods. "I know."

"We have a lot of research on this, a lot of options. Raina's files," she points out, because of course she has already done some of the heavy lifting, looking out for him. "It can help. It will."

"Yes," he agrees.

She hands him the bottle of water again. Coulson takes a long gulp. He feels better now.

"Can you stand up?" Skye asks.

"I think so."

He finds out he can stand on his own.

"For now we should get you to your bed," Skye says. Coulson widens his eyes at her, scared. It takes him a moment to realize what he's scared of. Skye is quicker. "You don't want to be alone? I can stay with you, if you want."

He nods, unable to do anything else. He knows it's unprofessional and he shouldn't let Skye do this. But Skye is pressing the palm of her hand to the small of his back and none of that matters.

"You're going to be all right," she tells him and it doesn't sound like a lie or a platitude or something to ward off her own fear. Skye is Skye and Skye sounds like she always does, fiercely confident in her own truths, even when those truth defy logic and history.

"Promise me."

Skye frowns. "What?"

"I think... if you promise me, I'll be."

She turns to face him. Her hand, once more, come up to hold him. She presses her lips, hard, against his forehead.

"I promise."

He believes her.

 

+

 

It's December when he finds the record player.

Things are going better for all of them – but he's still working too hard.

So Skye is nothing but surprised when she finds him leaning over the machine – a small protable turntable – with a stack of dust-covered records on the side. A distraction from work.

"Where did you find it?" she asks.

"In that cupboard."

"There was no cupboard there before."

"They put wallpaper over the door."

"A secret cupboard?" That's exciting. "Do you think this is Peggy Carter's?"

Coulson looks at her like she is really dumb. He never does that.

"No, it's not Peggy Carter's. It's one of those very light models they started making in the late 60s."

"And these records?" She picks one up from the desk. She doesn't know the artist but she can vaguely place the kind of music. "This is definitely not 60s music."

"The records are from the 80s. But yeah, the stuff is actually much earlier."

Coulson is fixing up the player, checking that the tone-arm moves easily. He takes out his handkerchief, uses his tongue to wet a corner and cleans the last specks of dust from the platter. She likes seeing him like this, concentrated and obviously enjoying this. She knows he hates being trapped in this office doing paperwork. And she knows the last couple of months have been tough for him, in so many ways. She studies his frame. He looks in good shape, and it's nice to see that with her own eyes instead of constantly pestering Simmons for updates on Coulson's condition.

"You seem to know your way around this thing. You know they have a thing called iPods now, right?" she teases.

"Yes, I left mine plugged into Lola," Coulson says, delighted at her surprise. "My mother had one of these when she was young. A very similar one, I think, almost identical, but it was beige and pink, not blue."

"Really?" She's touched by the mention; Coulson never ever talks about his parents. She is touched that is doesn't seem to be like a big deal to him, she is here and he is willing to share this with her. No big struggle, just trust and intimacy. "That's nice."

"She used to tell me never to underestimate the importance of music for women, and how guys never really understand that."

"She was right, you know," Skye says. Music has never been of much importance to her personally. But she gets it. Even she had spent endless afternoons in her room as a teen, listening to sad songs and feeling wonderfully sorry for herself because of some real or imagined affront committed against her by the nuns or some boy or by the whole world.

"This is not the kind of records she would have had, though," he says, looking at the cover of some of the records.

"What kind of music did your mother like?"

He grins. "The Velvet Underground and Nico."

"Oh," Skye says. She only knows those from Wes Anderson movies but she gets the vibe.

"Seems like it works," he comments. He gestures towards Skye and the pile of records "Pick one. Let's try it."

She has no idea, picks one at random and hands it over.

"Duke Ellington," he says, approvingly.

The player works. In fact Skye is kind of surprised how at how good it sounds. She's never had a vinyl player. There was one in one of the foster homes she was in for a while, her foster father was a collector and had a room just for that, but he never let her listen to any of the records, saying that it was his alone-time and children were not allowed. But she kind of gets the fascination for old records. This one sounds good.

It's a slow, sweet instrumental melody.

They listen to it for a while and then she offers Coulson her hand.

"What?"

"Let's dance," she says, not quite knowing where the impulse came from.

Coulson looks around him, like he expects someone else in the room, or for this to be a practical joke.

"What are you talking about?" he asks her.

"Dance with me, Director."

He shoves his hands in his pockets. "I don't think we should."

"Live a little. You know you need it." He arches his eyebrows at that. "What? You've been stranded in this office for ages, keeping all sorts. I'm pretty sure you haven't even noticed it's Christmas out there."

"Is it?"

"Fitz is having a brainstorm about a potential party in the lab. You should come by and contribute."

"Mm."

"But for now, let's dance."

"I don't think it's appropriate, Skye."

"Forget about that."

"But –"

"Come on, Coulson, it's just me."

Something about that seems to convince him. He takes his hands out of his pockets and walks up to Skye, accepting her offer and the hand she's reaching out for him.

It's not weird, when he slips his arm around her waist and begins to sway them both to the romantic tune. It's not weird, just nice. Despite his initial protests Coulson doesn't seem uncomfortable at all. He seems to be enjoying it, actually. She is not a great dancer but something this slow she can manage to follow easily and enjoy it herself.

But Skye feels like she should say anything because with the music and with their bodies pressed so close together and limbs entangled and brushing each other everywhere it all might be getting a little _too romantic_ and she doesn't want Coulson to freak out.

"See? This is nice."

"Thank you," he says, looking the opposite of freaked out.

She moves her hand from his shoulder to his chest. She thinks Coulson is holding her a bit closer now, and they are moving a little bit slower, but she doesn't mind.

"You've been working too hard," she tells him, careful not to mention the other thing. "And that goes double for me. I feel like I have three different jobs."

She kind of does.

"Four," he says. His voice is soft and unusual. "You've also been taking care of me."

"Hey, that's my job."

"No, it's not," he tells her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put so much on your shoulders."

She shakes her head and her hair brushes against Coulson's face for a moment.

"No, you know I work better with lost of responsibility. It's what I wanted. But I also want to take a moment to stop and breathe. And maybe think about other things."

"Other things..."

She looks slightly up, meeting his eyes.

There's this moment where they stop moving, the music goes on but without them, and Skye looks very hard, trying to find something in that gaze, an opening, a possibility.

She doesn't find it.

She shrugs and they keep dancing without a word.

 

+

 

"Are coming to yell at me too?"

Skye looks _offended_. "No, of course not."

He wishes she would. Yell at him. Punish him.

"Then why are you here?" he asks. _Why are you always here?_ he wants to ask – but he knows the way it would come out right now would hurt her, and he might be angry but he wouldn't do that to Skye.

"To see if you were okay?" She sounds impatient.

"So you agree with me? That it was worth a shot going in without guns?"

"Did you miss the part where I helped you design the op? Of course I agree with you."

He leans against the desk. He doesn't have the drive to stay angry and frustrated, not with Skye and her clear-eyedness in the room. He just feels sad, a failure.

"You're not angry?" he asks, a bit pathetically. Knowing that he need to hear it, anyway.

"I'm worried."

"They are all angry at me."

"Tough," she says and Coulson is surprised, it's not like her to be this rash with him. "No, I didn't mean you. I mean _them_. They'll have to suck it up."

"What?"

"They are professionals," Skye tells him. "And they are smart enough to realize you made the right call."

"A twenty-three year old recruit is in the hospital, she might lose her leg. The only combat she had seen before was when she locked herself in a supplies closet when HYDRA attacked the Academy. And I picked her for this."

"Actually, if you remember, Director, _I_ picked her. You told me to get someone who had tested well in people's skills."

He thinks back. It's true. He had given Skye the parameters for the back-up team and then he let her do her thing. He feels sick. This is even worse.

He steps back. He walks around to the other side of his desk, opening the third drawer. He takes out the bottle of scotch. He takes out a glass, then offers it to Skye.

"You want some?"

"I'm fine," she says, not in a judgemental way, which Coulson appreciates given the circumstances.

He pours himself a drink, sitting on his chair, or rather letting himself fall on it. Skye comes around the desk and stands directly by his side, above him, looking down on him. Close, always too close. He doesn't remember the last time she stayed at an appropriate distance, or the last time he wanted her to. She has a curios non-expression, like she is waiting for him to explain.

"The first time I saw Director Fury drink when we were alone in his office I was _scandalized_ ," he says, smiling to himself – was he ever really that young? To his surprise Skye smiles too. "I thought that was a behavior unfit for a Director of SHIELD."

He doesn't want her to see him like this – somehow he always wants her to see the best bits of him, even if he has to make them up on the spot. But he also doesn't want to run away.

Skye leans and touches the tip of her index to his glass. "As long as it's not a habit."

"It's not," Coulson replies. "Fury said to me _Phil, you get to have one drink a year, just one_."

"Meaning...?"

"You get to have one mission, one fuck-up, one –"

"You didn't fuck up. If you are looking at me for recrimination, sorry, sir, but I'm not your girl."

She doesn't understand. He's the _Director_ , and every bad decision bleeds into everything this organization is, everything it wants to be. 

"I should have thought about the safety of the team first," he comments.

"You can't change the world being careful. Wasn't that what you said you wanted?"

"I might have been too ambitious there. I–"

"No," she interrupts. "Don't do that. Don't be that person. Not with me."

He nods. "All right."

He moves to pour himself another glass but Skye's hand stops him. "What did Fury tell you? Just one drink a year. I'll be here to enforce that policy."

He smiles. She's always doing that. Making sure he knows she intends to stay. It's not particularly subtle, which is why it works.

He thinks back on the mission. In hindsight it's obvious he was being naive. "I didn't want to frighten anyone."

"They got frightened anyway," she says.

"I thought you said I made the right call."

"That's the point. Sometimes you make the right call and things go wrong anyway. That doesn't mean it wasn't the right one."

"May disagreed."

"And she still followed you," Skye argues. "That's why you need someone like May by your side. And that's the difference between me and her."

"You wouldn't follow me?"

"I would," she doesn't miss a beat. She smiles at him, soft around the edges. "But if I thought you were making a mistake I would drive you up the walls arguing against it first."

That he can believe. That is necessary for him to believe. There's certain comfort in Skye's unwavering resolve – he can sleep safe in the knowledge that she wouldn't let him stray off the right path too long, even if she has to hit him over the head with something heavy and drag him back to it. There's not such a thing as unconditional loyalty with Skye – you have to earn her trust every day, every step of the way.

That's why he needs her.

He needs her.

"That's why I need someone like you by my side," he says, putting his hand over hers gently.

Skye doesn't pull away and he doesn't know why he should expect something like that. He's not prone to physical demostrations of affection so he knows Skye would never turn one away, knowing how much it takes.

"Yes," she says, sighing a bit, like she's not completely convinced or like she wants to add something else. "That's why."

 

+

 

It's just unfair. That they might just get killed in the crossfire when things were beginning to look up. That some asshole mercenaries hired to bust their whole place open might be the ones to get them in the end. That they might die because of something so petty. She doesn't want to die but they are outnumbered in here. More than that, she is angry at the possibility that she might die here, now, having wasted so many chances already.

They sit on the floor, backs pressed against the desk, taking stock of their ammo with one eye on the door. This bunker is very old and despite the refurbishment Skye wonders just how safe they are in this office.

It seems that, for the moment, they are relatively safe.

She turns to Coulson, examines the cut above his eye. Asshole mercenaries.

"I saw May and Fitz running towards the armoury," he says, while Skye cleans the blood so that he can see. "Maybe they can come and get us."

"You mean we should stay here?"

He looks unsure. "I don't know. Normally I would propose is safer taking the initiative but..."

A burts of gunfire outside these walls interrupts him, making the point for him. At least it's not directed here, so they can gamble that no one saw them getting into the room. They'll figure it out, eventually.

He looks calm enough but Skye can't be. It's not the possibility, always present, that she won't survive the day. She's been a field agent long enough, she can deal with her feelings about that. It's the waste what is bothering her. Again it's not really the idea of dying, it's not even the idea of him dying, it's the idea of not having enough time.

"We have to talk," she tells him, leaving her gun on the floor.

" _Now_?"

"Coulson, if we don't make it..." she says, twisting her fingers into the collar of her shirt, trusting he would know what she means to say.

"No," he says.

In the midst of fire and gunshots and mortal danger Skye feels hurt the most by this. She's an idiot.

But she needs to tell him.

"I know you don't want to hear it but –"

"I want to hear it," he tells her, curling his fingers around her wrist. "But not now."

Not now? What does that even mean? There might not be another _now_ to do this.

"If this is about protocol..."

He shakes his head. "It's not. I understand that doesn't matter, protocol, rules, I know that now. But I don't want to do it like this."

"But –"

"I want to –" he trials off, looking down of their hands, like he's overcome with too much emotion to talk.

"What?" she asks, feeling like she has an idea and god she wants to kiss him. If they are going to be dead in a few minutes... why won't Coulson let her kiss him?

"I'm not going to do this like this," he says between his teeth. "I'm not."

"What does it matter? Those guys out there–"

" _It matters_. I'm not going to do this when you think we might die," he tells her. "I'm going to do this when you know we are going to live."

Skye stares at his words. She finally understands. Coulson knows Ward once manipulated her fear of dying and her desire for love in one single moment. He doesn't want to play the same hand Ward did.

She nods at him.

"Got it," she says. She slips her hands off his body, drawing them back to her gun. "Then I'll better make sure we both come out of this alive."

 

+

 

The office is in shambles but at least she finds the bottle of scotch intact, safely tucked away in its drawer. He watches her take it out. He wonders if she is in pain – the wound in her neck still looks back and he's pretty sure she didn't spend the time in the infirmary she should have, just because she wanted to come back here and talk to him. He could put on the stern boss act and tell her to take care of herself first, but the truth is he understand this is more important.

"We're alive."

"More or less," Coulson says.

She pours two drinks.

"I thought you were enforcing the one-drink-per-year policy," he reminds her.

"We're celebrating."

"Being alive is a good reason to celebrate." He knows he is just dipping his toes in the water, being purposedly dense, but he still needs her to say it out loud.

"Yeah, that, and the other thing."

"The other thing?"

"Being alive is not enough," she tells him. "We are celebrating we get to _live_."

He takes the glass from her hand and places it back on his desk.

"Skye. Would you do me a favor?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Would you kiss me?" he asks.

She frowns, confused. "Would _I_ kiss you?"

"I made myself promise I'd never make the first move."

"I can definitely kiss you. And I would. I mean, I will. Right now."

Coulson smiles. His heart is beating so fast that he has to remind himelf he is not some pathetic teenager waiting for the girl he likes to kiss him. But he definitely is some pathetic fifty year old waiting for the woman he loves to kiss him.

Skye leans into him but then at the last moment she pulls away.

"Why did you promise yourself that you wouldn't make the first move?" she asks.

He doesn't hide his disappointment. "I thought you were going to kiss me."

She rests her hand on his shoulder, which is... _nice_ , but still not a kiss. 

"Answer me."

"Because I wanted to kiss you for such a long time," he tells her. "But I couldn't live with myself if I thought I was taking advantage of you."

"You would never do that."

"But from the outside–"

"What does it matter what it looks like from the outside? It matters what it looks like from here, between us. I know what being taken advantage of feels like, Coulson. Trust me, this is not it."

It all sounds very logical but in his heart he knew that he needed that one rule.

"But I needed you to make the first move."

"No. I needed you to make the first move," she says. He makes a surprised face. "Did you seriously think I'd risk messing with our relationship? With my track record? You're too important."

"I'm sorry. I thought I was being the good guy. I thought it made a bad boss, a bad Director, that I couldn't stop thinking about you. I can't stop thinking about you."

"What about protocol? You said it didn't matter."

Yeah, no, he could see, a long time ago – even before he realized he loved her, more or less around the time Quinn shot her – that the non-fraternization rules were total bullshit.

"It doesn't. It would be a farce, pretending it makes things more professional. I would still be thinking about you, whether or not we are together. The tough calls would be just as tough."

"That's exactly what I think."

"So can we go back to the part where you were about to kiss me?"

"Only if you ask me again."

"Please. _Skye_. Kiss me."

 

+

 

Focus isn't coming easy to her.

They said they could do this. Be in the same room and work like always and not... not do the things she can't stop thinking about doing.

Their first kiss – more like first sustained make out session – had been spectacular but Coulson decided to cool things off. He said he wanted to do this properly, which was predictable but also completely unfeasable, because god knows when they'll have time for that.

"I just –" Skye doesn't mean to bring it up again, but it's all she can think about. She's beginning to forget what his mouth felt like, hot and unrelenting, on hers, and she is beginning to feel like it was just a surreal dream. So talking about it, checking that Coulson remembers it too, helps her not go mad. "I get it, I do, but also... I don't get it."

"I have plans for us. I don't want this to be..." he picks up the tiny Lola model on his desk. She loves that, that he has that, how dorky he is, and she loves his hands and she wants those fingers inside her as soon as possible and she is trying to be sensitive to all his plans and his romantic fantasies but it's hard.

"What is this, anyway?" She's not asking for a definition, just guidelines. She knows she loves him, but that's not exactly a relationship status.

"That's what I want to find out," Coulson admits. "But with time. In a good hotel with nice sheets. After a good dinner."

She smirks at how much he must have been thinking about this.

"Oh, how classy. Normally all a guy has to do is buy me a beer and beat my encryption. I wish you'd beat _my encryption_ right now."

He chokes on his laughter. "Skye."

"I don't want you to think I don't appreciate the effort. I wasn't kidding. I've never been given the five-star treatment before. It's really nice that you think I'm worth all that."

He stares at her for a moment. She wonder if Coulson thinks it's self-pity. It's not. She doesn't put much value in the wrapping, she just wants to be with Coulson. But it's somehow touching, that he thinks Skye deserves to have these nice things.

"I wish I could give you more," he tells her. And it's not about time off and luxurious hotel beds. She gets it. He thinks he is somehow too damaged, done. She knows that's his fear.

"It's not about what you can give me."

He turns the mission report he has in his hands, fidgety, distracted.

"I want to make you happy," he admits, almost a whisper.

She's pretty sure this is the first time a guy as ever said that too her, and so earnestly.

"This is not helping with my I-want-to-molest-my-boss-in-his-office situation."

"Skye? Please?"

"Okay. I want to make you happy, too," she says and watches his face go soft and open and _amazing_. What wouldn't she do to see that face all the time? "And if this makes you happy, I'm in on the plan."

"Thanks."

She complies. But that doesn't mean they get much work done today.

 

+

 

Her resolve to support his plans lasts as long as his resolve not to look at her in an unprofessional way does.

So it's not entirely her fault this time, he understand that.

He's looking at her again and hey, if she is not allowed to do that neither is he, it's what Skye seems to be thinking. Fair enough, Coulson guesses, but he knows he's in trouble. 

"Coulson, you can't have it both ways," she tells him.

"Excuse me?" Coulson looks up from where he was pretending to be so concetrated on a report.

"You can't tell me I have to wait until we get a day off –which could be _never_ as far as I know– and then look at me like that."

"Was I looking –?"

"Yes. Yes, you were."

"I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "It's okay."

No, it's not.

"No, it's not. How can I expect you to behave professionally if I...?"

"That's not a problem. Out there in the field I'm pretty sure you'd be your usual Agent Badass self." Coulson snorts. "But work has been so boring this morning. And I admit I chose to wear this dress to provoke you, because I'm really, really tired of this."

"Skye..."

"I'm at the end of my rope here, too, Coulson."

He can't help but smirk a bit at that. The idea of Skye having trouble with not being able to physically express what she feels for him is just too damn delicious. He knows he shouldn't like it, because he's the one who put a stop to it, but he does.

Skye catches him smiling.

Coulson realizes he's made a mistake. Now she's walking towards him with that resolved expression on her face that means he's in deep trouble, yes, sir.

She climbs on the chair with him, not straddling him, not yet anyway, her knees at each side.

"What are you doing?" he asks, aware of how fearful he sounds.

"I can't stand this. I have so many fantasies about you..."

"We're in the office," he argues, like the setting makes any difference.

"Yes, in this office. Where we have fought and where we have comforted each other. Where we have almost died. And where I kissed you for the first time. Where do you think most of my fantasies take place?"

She rolls her hips over him, touching her hand to his knee and then darting upwards. It's not particularly subtle, Coulson has been with women with a lot more finesse, but he doesn't care, it's working, it's perfect. He's already as hard as he can be, his cock painfully pressed against the inside of his pants, and Skye's breath against his face is not helping at all.

Then she kisses him and it's even worse, he almost misses the moment she drops her hand to his groin and starts rubbing him through his pants, he almost misses it because the way she slides her tongue in his mouth, so demanding, so righteous like this is something the universe owes her (and maybe it is, Coulson would be happy to be Skye's reward for all the hardships, except that can't be, because he is old and foolish and ill), that's even more unbearable than her hand flattened against the length of his cock. She moves to kiss his neck, sucking at a particularly sensitive place that makes Coulson's hips move out of their volition.

"Skye, I –"

"Yes, you have a plan, I know."

She unbuckles his belt expertly with one hand while she keeps teasing the spot under his right ear with tongue and a little bit of teeth.

She starts touching him, carefully, experimentally. Her eyes never leave Coulson's face, though, studying his reaction.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asks.

All he can do is sigh.

"No," he admits, defeated, just wishing she would do whatever she wants with him. "But I didn't want it to happen like this."

Skye shoves her hand inside his boxers, grabbing the length of him. He groans, not sure if as protest or encouragement. No, he knows. Definitely encouragement. And helplessness. And the pleasurable side of feeling helpless because he has wanted to be in Skye's hands (pun intended, he knows she would like that) for such a long time.

"You need to stop trying to put us in a box," she tells him and her voice is very calm and the rhythm of her words matches the rhythm of her light strokes. "I know you think it's for the better but... I'm an 084 and you – you literally came back from the dead. Stop trying to make plans, and rules, for us. Don't make this ordinary. Don't make it about hotel rooms and champagne and waiting periods and dates. I do want all those things. But I also want to be able to – make you feel good, right here, right now. I want to. Do you want me to?"

"God, yes."

Her fingers squeeze him tighter, with more confidence and Coulson decides to let go and just give into the feeling. The variety of feelings. Not just Skye's hand stroking him, but the sweet weight of her body above him, her breath on his face, her other hand anchoring him, clasped around his shoulder.

She kisses hm hard, opening his mouth, opening him up, matching the movements of her hand with the movements of her tongue. They move together seamlessly and Coulson remembers when they danced at Christmas, that moment of shameful weakness that brought on many sleepless nights because of the memory of Skye's body pressed against his. He doesn't need to feel shame anymore. He doesn't need to feel anything but safe and engulfed in Skye's warmth. He throws his head back, eyes tightly shut, and lets go of everything but Skye's touch on his skin.

He comes with a long, drawn out chuckle, and end up finding himself simply laughing against Skye's neck, against her mouth. Fucking hysterically laughter, Laughter of relief, yes, but also incredulity, that this just happened, that this _is happening_ , the he was able to find this at this moment in his life, to find her.

"I think I should reciprocrate," he tells her afterward, feeling smug and elated.

Skye leans back, raising and eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You are wearing a dress, after all."

He places one hand above her knee, fingers dancing upwards.

"Yes, and I'm beginning to be _really_ glad I do."

"And our morning meeting starts in twenty minutes. I can get a lot done in that time," he tells her.

"Good plan."

He shakes his head. "No. No more plans. I promise."

Skye smiles.

 

+

 

"I'm going to kill you," she says, scratching her hand across his scalp, almost without care about the cut on the side of his head where he received the blow. He deserves it too.

"Yes," Coulson mutters, apologetic, his voice far away, digging his fingers into the fabric of her underwear, pulling down. "Some other day."

She shifts on the desk, his hands lifting her and changing the angle for better access even though Coulson doesn't deserve any kind of help right now. He pushes one finger into her and Skye agrees to put his murder off for a while. Specially since he almost got killed today. Which was the whole point of getting angry with him in the first place. Instead she wraps her legs around his back as he keeps sucking hard, with just a hint of teeth across her flesh.

"I know you're frustrated," she says, pulling hard at his hair. "I know you don't want to be cooped up here..."

He flattens his tongue against her. He is so good at this, sometimes she wonders how many lovers he's had.

"And some days you don't really want to be Director. Most days, actually."

He gives her a hard sweep of his tongue, before sliding inside her.

"But that was _reckless_ ," she says, gritting her teeth on the word.  
He grabs her thighs, holding her in place as the movements of his mouth become more aggresive, hectic.

She keeps on talking.

"And stupid."

She comes, hard, but Coulson doesn't stop, he pushes another finger inside and Skye gasps, twisting her hand into his hair.

"And reckless," she says again, once she's found the voice to do so. He moans against her, drawing his teeth across the top of her thigh. "Yes, I know I said _reckless_ already. It was super reckless."

He pulls away his fingers and Skye makes a noise of protest which gets cut short because he stands up and starts kissing her. He starts kissing her like it's been a long time since he's done so, or like he's afraid he might not get to do it again. Skye can taste herself on his mouth and she thinks _we're alive_ and a bit of all the anger she felt towards him disappears. Just a bit.

"And moreover," she starts unbuckling his pants. "You can't do that to me."

Coulson looks up, meeting her eyes in what Skye feels is forever.

"You can't," she repeats.

He nods, solemnly, and Skye frees his cock from under his underwear, wrapping her hand around it. He stops her, taking her hand away and stroking himself. He knows Skye likes it when he touches himself. She is not buying into his effort at placating her but she lets him.

He lines up their bodies.

"Promise."

Coulson nods, kissing her neck.

"If you are going to go one the field and do something reckless," she says, "at least _tell me_ so I can be reckless with you."

Anything could have happened. She had no idea where he was. Anything... can he even imagine what she went through?

He rubs his cock against her, teasing her.

"Fuck you," Skye mutters. "You're the one who should be getting the punishment here, not me."

Coulson gives her a smug smile before pressing inside her, slowly, feeling her tremble with it. He has left her frustrated and oversensitive and he feels bigger than he actually is and she just – 

"Oh, shit," she says when he's completely engulfed in her. She bites her lip, trying to keep quiet, but there's no way Coulson hasn't just _felt it_.

"Did you just...?" he asks. His face is awful, all smug and delighted and in love.

"Shut up," she says, feeling a terrible heat in her cheeks. She's never been this embarrassed in her whole life. She wraps her arms around his neck and hides her face, mumbling, trying to come down from the orgasm. "Shut up shut up shut up."

"God, I love you," he says and it makes everything stop.

She grabs him by the hair, pulling until he falls back and looks at her.

"I can't lose you," she tells him. "Do you understand? I _can't_."

She's very serious about it. And he seems to get it, finally he gets it. He takes her face in his hands and kisses it. Skye realizes she's crying a bit.

"I know," he says, moving into her again, slowly, breathlessly, _completely_.

 

+

 

At least this time the office hasn't taken a hit. Which is almost upsetting because he has come to expect it. It's like a tradition around here.

He watches Skye pace about, examining the items on his desk, like making sure they are intact. Like that's what matters. She picks up every item, looking at it for a bit, then puts it down. She seems dazed, stunned, not here.

"So," Coulson says, making her turn. "Your father wants to kill me."

Skye raises both eyebrows.

"Yes! I was wondering when we could get past the horror and carnage and right into the father-in-law jokes."

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy."

He had forgotten what Skye putting up her defenses looked like. At least with him. She can make the hard calls on the field like the best of them, and she can _act_ as if shit doesn't touch her but at the end of the day she comes back to him, and at the end of the day he's able to see her as she really is, with the cuts and bruises she doesn't show the world.

He tries to rest his hand between her shoulders, like he has done countless times (Skye is familiar, Skye is solid, Skye is in his life to stay) but she pulls away.

"Skye?"

She turns around. 

She looks tired. 

"I feel like I'm putting you at risk just by looking at you."

"That's not true," he says, reaching out to her again. She avoids his touch again. Coulson gets the message, he steps back to leave her some space.

"Isn't it?"

Skye doesn't need the extra effort she has to make for him. He needs to be there for her, but not as just another problem.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks. He feels the words fall heavily from his mouth.

"Stop what?"

He gestures. "This. _Us_."

"Are you serious?"

"If it's just more pressure. If this is going to makes things harder for you... Skye, I don't want that. I don't want to be a burden."

"A burd–" she stops to draw a short breath. Her eyes go very wide. She looks almost angry. She looks definitely bewildered. "I'm a half-alien orphan who might or might not contain the key to destroy Earth. My father is trying to kill all of my friends and maybe me as well, who knows. And the people who are not down with that plan like Raina and fucking Grant Ward still want to kidnap me for horrific experiments. I am literally responsible for putting everybody I care about in danger and I feel utterly and hilariously powerless to protect you." She pauses for a moment. "Are you seriously asking if I want to give up the only thing that makes me happy right now?"

"I make you happy?" He doesn't sound conceited. Just surprised. "I'm sorry, it's not the moment."

Skye just stares. "You really have no idea. Do you?"

She puts her hands against his shoulders and pushes him back, towards his chair. Coulson sits as instructed, letting Skye take a place on one of the arms, legs across his and leaning over to bring their mouths together. He makes a pitiful noise – he needed this. Doubt and carnage and guilt and an uncertain future, and he needed them to go back to being Skye and Coulson, if only for a moment. And it is only a moment, a deep, dirty and quick kiss.

When she pulls away her face is still serious and hard and inquisitive.

"Do _you_ want to stop?" she asks.

He can't tell her how much he needs her. How much he can't go on without her, without this.

He shakes his head. "I just thought... I can't stand the idea that I might not be helping. You don't need the extra hassle."

"There you go again with the – the _words_. Hassle? _I need you_."

That's ridiculous, he thinks.

But then she presses their foreheads together.

"Don't leave me alone," she asks. "I wouldn't leave you alone."

He knows that's true. And she would never see it like this but Coulson owes her. She's been by his side through all the shit this year, the least he can do is reciprocate somehow. But Skye is strong and brave and wise, she can do those things for him. He's neither.

"I don't know how to make it better," he admits.

"You don't have to make it better," she tells him. " _I_ will make it better. You just have to be here, don't disappear inside your head like you do. Be here and love me, maybe?"

She gives him a shy smile. Even after all this time she feels bad about asking for the important stuff. She doesn't really need to ask. Coulson touches the curve of her shoulder, naked once the first layer of her mission suit is removed. There's a small bruise beginning to form. Skye never needed him to protect her and he has never been that guy, he's proud of her. But seeing her get hurt right now makes him feel powerless, a useless old man.

"I'm sorry," he says, pressing his thumb gently to the sore spot of skin.

Skye shakes her head, holding him in the palms of her hands and kissing him softly.

"We'll get through this. Okay?" she says, and he is happy to see she has gone back to her old self, her old defiant tone. "We've made it through worse stuff and we're still here. Right?"

"Yes, we have." He thinks about his broken body, the stubborness on Skye's part about that and how he some days believes that is the only reason why he continues to breath normally, to function, to remember the meaning of words.

"My father or not, if he comes near you he's toast. Dead toast."

He chuckles against her neck.

Her father or not, powerful murdering alien or not, that guys has no idea what a formidable force he is going up against. The woman in Coulson's arms might look small from the outside, her complexion fragile, her words sweet. He knows better. He's proud he knows better. He slides his arms around her waist, putting his mouth around the bruise on her arm.

 

+

 

 

After such a long time down in this basement-like place she can't imagine what a existence of windows and open doors looks like for SHIELD.

This is what she wanted, all along, what she wanted _for him_ , but still, their lives are going to get a lot more complicated in a few minutes, their world a lot bigger. She wonders how change will change. If they will. If their relationship will have to change after this.

"So, big gamble, uh?" She tests the waters, see if he is having second thoughts.

Coulson seems calm about it. "We can't stay in the shadows forever."

"I know, but..."

"You once told me this is what we should be doing."

"You listen to me way too much," she points out.

Coulson smiles. "That I do."

She paces around the office for a bit. Like she's done a million times. She loves this place. Didn't think she'd ever would. So many things have happened. She feels preemptively nostalgic about leaving.

"Maybe you can even get an office with windows now," she jokes.

"I don't know," he says, brushing his hand against Skye's arm. "I like this one."

"The basement has its charms, I admit."

He looks at her from the corner of his eyes. Oh, Skye knows that look. She knows it intimately and blissfully, that stupid twinkle and that thing he does with his stupid beautiful face. That look means he is thinking about kissing her. 

"Good things have happened in this office," he tells her.

He must be forgetting the bad things, she thinks. The arguments, the attacks, the we-almost-died-s. She's happy the balance seems to feel positive to Coulson. Then again he is an optimist through and through, he just doesn't know it. She goes to sit with him on the desk, looking to the door, looking to the future, in a way. New New SHIELD. Or rather Official New SHIELD, after a year of hiding.

"We've done good work this past year," she tells him. "You should be proud."

He looks up at the portrait of Peggy Carter in his wall. Then down at the floor.

"I keep asking myself that. If I should be proud."

She links her arm with his. Coulson looks up at her surprised.

"Well, _I_ am proud," Skye tells him. "If that counts for something."

"You know it does," he says, leaning to kiss the corner of her mouth.

Skye smiles to herself. They've been together for enough time that the novelty should fade and though she appreciates their familiarity a lot she also likes the way it never feels settled, expected, the way she still feels like this is something new, something that could just as easily have started yesterday, or could start two weeks from now.

"Thank you," he says.

"For what?"

Coulson looks around the office. "For all this."

She shakes her head.

"You've earned this," she says.

"Well, I just hope I'll be able to as supportive when your time comes."

Skye disentangles herself from his arm. She turns around to look at his face, her hands coming to rest on Coulson's hips.

"You mean that?" He nods. "You're not talking about _right now_. Are you?"

"Not right now," he replies. "But not as far into the future as you imagine. Would you be interested?"

Would she be interested? This is way more terrifying than if he were asking her to marry him or something. This is a lot more meaningful. She knows Coulson trusts her with his life, with his heart. But with SHIELD? That's another thing.

"Yes, definitely, very much."

"But?"

He knows her too well. That's a wonderful, _infuriating_ thing.

"I can't imagine how I'll ever feel–"

"Ready?" he finishes. He's smiling at her. "Brave enough? _Good_ enough? You won't. And that's okay. I didn't."

He slips his arm around her waist, pulling her against his body. Skye revels in the touch, the always familiar always shocking intimacy of it all. Coulson brushes his lips against her cheek.

"But I got very lucky," he says.

Skye grins mischeviously.

She pushes Coulson back towards the desk, pressing their bodies as close together as they'd go, moving her hips against his.

"No, sir," she says, " _I_ got _lucky_."

Coulson rolls her eyes at her – but he's not letting her go, he's pulling her closer with his hand on the small of her back – and snorts, very Directorial.

"I take back my offer," he says, his hand twisted into her shirt, closer closer. "I don't think you have enough respect for the sanctity of S–"

"SHIELD?" she smiles. "None at all. It'd be a miracle if I don't end up changing the name."

She starts kissing his neck.

"Director Carter, please forgive her because she doesn't – _Hey_."

She has swift, thief-like hands, Coulson shouldn't be surprised that one of them is already inside his pants.

She tilts her head to one side. "You were saying?"

"Director Carter, please don't look. We're about to defile your office once more."

"Yes, yes, we are."

He laughs against her mouth and Skye can finally imagine it, a future outside the shadows, a future with windows and open doors. This is what she wanted for him. Now it's what she wants for herself as well.


End file.
